


Drabbling in Mystrade

by LizzieCarlton



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AUs, Blow Jobs, Desk Sex, Ficlet Collection, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Kidlock, Light Bondage, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Shower Sex, Smut, Teen Mycroft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:19:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 15,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieCarlton/pseuds/LizzieCarlton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my Mystrade drabbles, originally posted on Tumblr. (Averaging 500-700 words each) Will be updated regularly.<br/>An eclectic mix of madness, but mostly fluff and some smut.<br/>Johnlock only occasionally featured. Visit my blog's <a href="http://drabblinginmystrade.tumblr.com/tagged/johnlock"><b>Johnlock tag</b></a> if that's what you're looking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> You can find exclusive drabbles, more frequent updates or send me a prompt at my Tumblr: [**Drabbling In Mystrade**](http://drabblinginmystrade.tumblr.com)

_Prompt: First date and/or first kiss?_

Mycroft offered to walk Gregory to the door. He was hoping for a goodnight kiss, but doubted _that_ was going to happen in the backseat of his car under the watchful eye of the driver.

‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ he said graciously, as they walked up the driveway. ‘I’d like to do it again some time.’

Greg smiled at him as they paused outside the door, his hands planted in his pockets, rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. ‘Yeah, thanks,’ he said. ‘Me too.’

Mycroft licked his lips, his heart suddenly racing in his chest. All the blood seemed to have rushed from his head, leaving him feeling a little weak. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, not sure what else to say. More than anything he wanted to reach out and pull the other man towards him, but he couldn’t quite do it.

‘Well, I’ll be… leaving, then,’ he said awkwardly, speaking at the floor between them.

‘ _Will_ you?’ Greg asked, taking a step closer. Mycroft looked up to see him smirking and tilting his head to one side. He’d moved his hands out of his pockets.

‘I don’t know.’ He admitted, raising his eyebrows, ‘will I?’

‘I don’t think so.’ A firm hand snaked around Mycroft’s waist to rest against his back. Mycroft bit his lip, smiling and avoiding Greg’s eye, until he was pushed firmly up against the wall behind him.

Greg’s other hand came to rest on his cheek, turning his face to look directly at him whilst pressing their bodies tightly together. Mycroft became acutely aware of where his blood flow had rushed to and shifted in mild embarrassment. He wound his arms around Gregory’s waist all the same, heart racing in his chest. They watched each other for a moment, their gazes flickering from eyes to lips.

Greg moved in first, tilting his head and at long last their lips brushed. His eyes flickering closed, Mycroft sighed in soft relief, pressing their mouths more firmly together. A warm tongue ran along the bottom of his lip and he whimpered unintentionally, suddenly painfully aroused. Feeling Gregory smiling through the kiss, he pulled the man impossibly closer, opening his mouth wantonly and tangling one hand in his date’s hair. As Greg’s tongue explored his mouth, he bucked his hips forwards, unthinkingly running his hands down to squeeze at the man’s arse.

Greg pulled back slightly and Mycroft found himself blushing furiously. ‘I- I’m sorry,’ he stumbled, trying to shrug free of the tight hold.

Greg just shook his head, smirking. He raised one eyebrow and leaned in to brush his lips against Mycroft’s ear.

‘Now you’re definitely not going home,’ he murmured.


	2. Jealous Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mycroft jealous when someone flirts with Greg while they’re out

Mycroft smiled at Gregory from over the table, doing his best to suppress his nerves. Things seemed to have started well, but this was only their second date so, indubitably, something was bound to go wrong.

Gregory was looking particularly handsome, dressed in a black suit and a burgundy shirt. The top two buttons of the shirt were undone and Mycroft found himself wondering if he might get the opportunity to undo a few more a little later. He let his eyes wander down the man’s body, taking in the strong jaw, the tanned skin of his neck, and the delicious slither of chest revealed by his partially opened shirt.

They were interrupted by a cough and Mycroft looked up to note, with horror, that the waiter was doing exactly the same thing.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ the man asked Gregory, apparently failing to notice Mycroft’s existence and sounding more like he was asking for a date than an order.

Greg smiled up at him cheerfully, ‘yeah, we’ll have a bottle of red please.’

The waiter glanced at Mycroft, who raised his eyebrows at him challengingly.

‘The Pavillon Rouge,’ he added, choosing the most expensive on the list. He watched the man retreat with narrowed eyes.

‘Alright, Mycroft?’ Greg asked.

Turning back to Gregory, Mycroft smiled briefly. ‘Absolutely.’

…

 By the time they were ready to order dessert Mycroft was most definitely not alright. Their waiter was becoming more impudent by the minute. He’d been sending flirty looks at his date all night, apparently oblivious to Mycroft’s growing annoyance. And now… he was standing at the table, far too close in Mycroft’s opinion, making eyes at Gregory as he took their order.

‘What can I do for you?’ he asked him suggestively, bending down on one knee to address the question at eye-level, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

Mycroft hissed loudly. He couldn’t bear to stand a moment more of this. ‘Nothing at all,’ he snapped, interrupting before Gregory could answer. ‘Have one of your colleagues bring the bill. We’re leaving.’ He glowered at the waiter who straightened up and, frowning, walked away.

Clearing his throat, Greg raised his eyebrows at him, ‘what the hell was that?’ he asked.

‘The man was practically throwing himself at you,’ Mycroft frowned, ‘I won’t stand for it.’

‘Was he?’ Greg asked, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. He twisted in his seat to try and get another look at the man. ‘I didn’t notice.’ Turning back to Mycroft, he chuckled at the sour look on his face. ‘Was he hot?’ he asked teasingly.

Mycroft scowls. ‘You saw him.’

‘Not really,’ Greg shrugged, ‘I’m kind of only seeing you right now.’


	3. Mummy Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Greg meeting Mycroft’s family for the first time

‘Can I come in?’ Greg asked as Mycroft’s nose appeared in the crack of the door.

The door opened a little wider, but Mycroft remained resolutely in the way. ‘I’m sure you could, if you put your mind to it.’

Greg rolled his eyes and tried again. ‘May I come in?’

‘What for?’

‘Whatever you’re offering,’ Greg smirked, giving his boyfriend a suggestive once-over.

Mycroft straightened his tie uncomfortably and glanced over his shoulder. ‘It’s not a good time.’

Joining him on the doorstep, Greg ran his hands up the front of the other man’s suit jacket. Ignoring the attempts Mycroft made to shrug him off, he tugged on his Windsor-knotted tie, managing to pull him in for a brief kiss. ‘Why not?’ he asked.

Chuckling awkwardly, Mycroft just shook his head and ushered him back out of the door. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ he said, giving Greg a gentle push, as if discouraging an overly playful puppy, ‘Off you go.’

 ‘You’re impossible.,’ Greg huffed. Then he saw a car on the drive. Mycroft’s car was never on the drive. He has a driver to park it elsewhere for him… ‘Got one of your Tory buddies ‘round then?’ he asked teasingly, ignoring the unpleasant pang of anxiety the sight gave him.

‘I don’t have buddies.’ 

‘…Right,’ Greg frowned, feeling a little uncomfortable. Unknown car on the drive, lover anxious to get rid of him… he didn’t really want to draw the logical conclusion, partially  because he could see Mycroft drawing it for him; waiting, eyebrows raised for the inevitable accusation. Instead, he stepped back over the threshold and pushed his tongue into Mycroft’s mouth, left temptingly open in a sigh of exasperation. The ice-man melted after a few seconds of frantic struggle, reaching around to close the door behind him, and then pushing him back against it, moaning softly into the kiss. Greg pushed his hands under the silky waistcoat to rub his lover’s back.

‘Oh, my…’

A quiet exclamation of surprise caused Mycroft to leap guiltily backwards. Greg stumbled forwards slightly at the loss of contact, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Stood in an ornate doorway was an elderly lady in black with long white hair arranged carefully atop her head and pursed lips painted an alarming shade of red.

 _Fuck_. Now everything made sense. Greg found himself wishing he’d left as instructed and, from the look on Mycroft’s face, so was he. He wondered if it was too late to scarper… probably. Instead he smiled and offered a cautious greeting.

‘Good evening… Mrs Holmes?’

If she was shocked she didn’t show it. Pursing her lips, she nodded coldly, returning the greeting. ‘Good evening,’ she said, somewhat sarcastically, before turning to give Mycroft a questioning look.

‘Ah,’ Mycroft began, blushing rapidly. He smoothed his suit jacket and tugged nervously at his cuffs. ‘Yes. Mother, this is… Detective Inspector Lestrade from New Scotland Yard… we work together from time to time.’

Greg smiled, wondering why on earth Mycroft thought an introduction like that will do anything to improve the situation. Now he sounded like an occasional office shag… with a pair of handcuffs thrown in for good measure.

Mrs Holmes was looking decidedly unimpressed. ‘Nice to meet you Detective Inspector,’ she said, looking at the wall behind his head. The tone of her voice made it very plain it wasn’t.

‘It’s Greg,’ Greg told her, his smile growing a little strained.

Mycroft clapped his hands, rubbing them together with feigned enthusiasm. With a calm expression, he ushered his mother back into the sitting room. ‘Do just sit down, Mummy. I’ll bring that tea.’ Then he hurried back out, suddenly looking scandalised, in order to push Greg into the kitchen. Closing the door behind them he fell back upon it, eyes shut tight in apparent horror.

Greg couldn’t help but chuckle, earning himself a sharp glare.

‘Convinced I’m not buggering half the British government now?’ Mycroft snapped.

‘It was those French bastards I was worried about,’ Greg shrugged jokingly; ‘they’re all very handsome.’

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at him, pushing him out of the way in order to walk past him. ‘…And you think _I’m_ impossible?’

‘You are. “This is Detective Inspector Lestrade”’ he mimicked weakly. ‘She’ll think I’m some sort of sleazy fuck buddy.’

Scowling, Mycroft turned his back on him and reached for a teapot. ‘My mother isn’t familiar with that term.’

‘I bet she is.’

‘She certainly isn’t. I just thought she might approve of your title.’

‘I don’t think she does.’

‘No,’ Mycroft agreed simply, ‘neither do I.’

Greg groaned and slumped into a kitchen chair, burying his head in his hands. ‘This isn’t fair. I needed advance warning for this moment.’

‘My apologies,’ Mycroft retorted sarcastically, ‘you must have missed the written invitation. If you had but restrained yourself at the door we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

‘Oh, shut up. You enjoyed it…’ Greg said, receiving an eye roll but no denial.

Mycroft handed him the tea tray, ‘Just stay quiet. Let me do the talking.’

‘Okay… when is she leaving?’

‘She’s only just arrived.’

‘When can I leave?’

‘When she likes you,’ Mycroft said pointedly, giving him an expectant look.

With a low groan, Greg followed Mycroft back out of the kitchen. He had the distinct impression that they might all be stuck there for a very long time.  


	4. OCD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mycroft with OCD

Mycroft arrived home after a long day at work, in a terribly bad mood. Everything seemed to be falling to pieces. The dry cleaners had lost his favourite pair of socks, his driver had been late, and the Prime Minister was being unbearably uncooperative. Turning his key in the lock, he breathed a sigh of relief to be home, ready to settle down on the sofa with a glass of scotch and a good pair of slippers.

Walking through the door, he stumbled, hissing in annoyance as he realised Gregory had once again left his shoes in the middle of the hallway. He moved them at once, lining them up carefully at the door before removing his own and placing them side by side, exactly one inch between each shoe. Feeling a little more satisfied, he went in search of his husband.

Emerging into the kitchen, he stopped in horror.

 

The room was a mess. There were broken egg shells on the table, unwashed pans in the sink and the work surfaces were covered in flour. And so was his husband who stood in the middle of this mayhem, smiling as if he had done nothing wrong. Mycroft closed his eyes and counted to ten, ignoring Gregory’s greeting.

Finally feeling ready to speak, he employed his most dangerous tone, ‘Exactly _what_ is going on here?’ he asked.

Gregory shrugged, dusting flour off his shirt and onto the floor. ‘I’m making pasta,’ he said.

‘You’re making a mess,’ Mycroft corrected, beginning a slow lap around the kitchen to inspect the damage. He paused at the open cutlery draw and, wincing, removed a knife from the fork compartment. Glaring at Gregory, he washed and dried it before returning it to its proper place.

Greg shook his head in disbelief, ‘it’s not contaminated, Mycroft.’

‘ _Order_ , Gregory,’ Mycroft snapped, ‘is it too much to ask? Why is my kitchen covered in flour?’

‘Our kitchen. _I’m making pasta_.’

Mycroft groaned and hid his face in his hands as Gregory started rolling out dough directly onto the work surface.

‘Look,’ Greg said calmly, ‘go lie down and relax. I’ll clean up once I’m done.’

‘You’ll clean up now.’ Mycroft snapped bending down to inspect the contents of the sink. He picked up the washing up liquid, examining it uncertainly before upending it and pouring half the bottle into the basin. From behind him he heard a low growl of exasperation. Reaching for the tap, he made to turn the hot water to full blast.

Two firm hands grasped his waist and pulled him backwards. Mycroft wriggled furiously as his husband attempted to manhandle him out of the kitchen. But Gregory’s strong arms slipped around to enclose him fully, holding him tight and turning him around before walking him to the door. Mycroft stopped struggling as they left the kitchen, beginning to appreciate the powerful warmth of the embrace. Turning completely pliant, he leaned back into Gregory’s chest and allowed himself to be removed to bedroom, where he was deposited on the bed.

Annoyance giving way to a feeling of an entirely different nature, Mycroft instinctively reached out to grab Gregory’s sleeve when he turned to leave. With a sharp tug, he pulled the other man down on top of him and crushed their lips together.

‘Mm,’ Greg mumbled against his lips, ‘Not now… I’m… making… pasta.’

‘No,’ Mycroft told him firmly, running his hands down to squeeze at his arse, ‘you’re not.’ 


	5. Teenstrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Teenstrade where Lestrade is struggling in school and Mycroft is his tutor.

Mycroft looked around uncertainly as they entered Gregory’s bedroom. There didn’t seem to be a desk. Or any chairs for that matter. His heart stuttered in his chest when Gregory threw himself onto the bed, patting the space next to him reassuringly. Mycroft was beginning to regret agreeing to this tutoring business.

He sat down gingerly, as far away from the other boy as possible, quite unable to believe what was happening.

‘It’s just number ten I can’t do.’ Greg said, opening his exercise book. He pointed it out with Mycroft’s pencil before moving it to his mouth to chew on the end.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows as he scanned the page. It seemed good looks and intelligence _were_ mutually exclusive. ‘You can’t do any of them,’ he corrected. ‘These are all wrong.’

‘Crap.’

‘Quite,’ he agreed, tugging his pencil from Gregory’s grasp and setting to work.

By the time they’d reach the third question, they were sitting very close together. The bed sagged slightly under their combined weight, tilting them towards each other. Their heads were bent over Greg’s exercise book, ears almost touching.

If Mycroft breathed in deeply he could smell the other boy’s cologne and when he bent down further to scribble something in the margin, Greg’s breath brushed the back of his neck.

‘I don’t understand,’ the older boy sighed unhappily, trying to take the pencil back from Mycroft. ‘Let me try.’

‘No, no,’ Mycroft shook his head, condescendingly, ‘I haven’t finished explaining.’

‘But I need to do it.’ Greg tugged on the pencil, his hand moving to prise at Mycroft’s fingers.

‘You will,’ Mycroft said calmly, trying to ignore the warm hand now covering his own, ‘…eventually.’

Greg laughed at him, softening slightly at his earnest expression. ‘Gimme the pencil then,’ he said, leaning in with a grin. He rubs at Mycroft’s hand. ‘C’mon’

‘No…’ Mycroft breathed, stubbornly. Every nerve in his body was suddenly buzzing.

‘Fine,’ Greg grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him backwards playfully, scrambling onto his lap to try and wrestle the pencil from him, ‘if you won’t play nice.’

This, Mycroft thought, must be heaven. His back hit the covers, and he held the pencil behind his head so Greg had to lean down for it. Before he could stop himself he smiled flirtatiously, ‘I never play nice,’ he said.

Greg’s lips crashed down on his own before he had time to see it coming, and without a second thought, he arched his back, raised his hips and pressed back with his own.


	6. A Kidnapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mycroft kidnaps Greg for a romantic evening (planned thoroughly, of course)

Greg groaned and rolled his eyes as the sleek black car pulled up outside Scotland Yard. When would Mycroft Holmes learn that he couldn’t just be summoned at will? He had better things to do than discuss one posh bloke with another posh bloke in an abandoned warehouse. Like collapsing on his sofa and spending the evening watching TV. He was tired and hungry and desperately wanted a beer. Ignoring the car, he continued down the road.

The car followed at a crawl behind him.

Turning with a growl of annoyance, he headed in the other direction.

The car followed in reverse, apparently oblivious to the fact this was a one way street.

Caving in, he stopped. He waited with crossed arms and raised eyebrows, and sure enough the door swung open. Checking his watch, Greg sighed heavily before climbing in, glancing questioningly at Anthea as he did so.

‘This had better be good,’ he said.

They seemed to drive for an age, heading towards the outskirts of the city. The car finally pulled up outside a tall, posh house built in white brick. Anthea leaned over and pushed open his door pointedly. Climbing out, Greg looked around for the kind of decaying building Mycroft usually favoured. There were none in sight. It appeared he’d ended up in a wealthy suburban neighbourhood. Looking uncertainly back at Anthea she pointed him towards the house, before pulling the door closed as the car began to move.

 Beginning to feel somewhat suspicious, Greg ventured hesitantly up the drive. Mycroft usually chose a more intimidating location.

Ringing the doorbell, he peered suspiciously in through the nearest window, noting a large leather sofa and a glowing fireplace. He wondered when pleasant places had begun to seem unusual to him and suspected the change had occurred after the arrival of two particular men in his life.

The door swung open revealing Mycroft Holmes himself, looking as condescending as ever in a smooth, grey three piece suit. ‘Good evening, Detective Inspector.’ He smiled, straightening his tie, before cautiously correcting himself. ‘Gregory.’

Greg frowned. Since when was he on first name terms with Mycroft Holmes? ‘Hi,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Am I coming in then?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft beamed as if Gregory had just happened to pop round for a cuppa. ‘Come in, do.’ He held the door wide open, looking him up and down as he walked through. ‘Welcome to my home.’

‘Your home?’ Greg asked, disbelievingly. ‘Right. And, uh, why am I here?’

Mycroft ignored his question, stepping forwards to help him out of his coat. Hanging it neatly on a stand, he set off down the hallway, gesturing imperiously for Greg to follow.

They emerged in a large, shining kitchen. The room was warm and the air was rich with the smell of tomatoes and basil. On the table, two steaming plates of food sat waiting. A bottle of wine stood between them alongside… a candle.

Greg did a double take, and stood his ground, resisting the urge to back out through the doorway. Just as he thought he had the older Holmes sussed, it appeared he was once again on the back foot. What the hell was going on?

‘Do sit down, Gregory,’ Mycroft said politely, gesturing towards the nearest chair as he rounded the table and settled in his own.

Against his better judgement, Greg sat. He stared at Mycroft as the man began to pour him a glass of red wine whilst looking up at him from under lowered lashes. He decided to bite the bullet.

‘What is this?’ he asked.

‘This, Gregory,’ Mycroft began with a measured smile, ‘is a date.’


	7. Greg's A Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Something about one of them loving a specific part of his lover’s body. Bonus points if it’s not something obvious, although if you choose Greg’s or Mycroft’s biteable derriere, I’ll not be put off at all.

Mycroft almost whimpered when Gregory rolled up his shirt sleeves. They were sat outside, enjoying their lunch breaks, in the sun dappled courtyard of Mycroft’s favourite tea shop. It was a warm day and, for central London, the air was surprisingly clear.

Greg’s golden tan extended as far up his arms as Mycroft could see and, as the man moved to pick up his coffee cup, the soft dusting of hair upon them caught the morning light and shone brightly.

Greg winked at him from across the table, a movement Mycroft would have missed entirely if he didn’t know the man so well. His handsome face remained expressionless, as he swallowed his last mouthful of coffee.  Shaking his head minutely, Mycroft lamented having fallen for such a cruel tease. 

Leaning back in his chair, his lover stretched his arms out before folding them behind his head, relaxing in the sunshine.

Mycroft kicked him sharply under the table.

‘Hey,’ Greg grinned, the picture of innocence, ‘what was that for?’

‘You know exactly what that was for,’ Mycroft said, exercising his best disapproving stare.

‘Nope.’ Greg shook his head, and reached one hand towards him to flick away a crumb on the edge of the tablecloth. His arm extended temptingly before him. Pulling back slowly, Greg pushed his sleeves up a little further and then crossed his arms, the action causing the muscles under the skin to swell.

Mycroft tongue poked out to wet the corner of his mouth. He wondered exactly what he’d done to deserve being wrapped in those arms on an almost nightly basis. He wanted Gregory to pick him up and carry him to a bed, before pinning him down to the mattress and pressing one of those long, thick fingers into his mouth.

Tugging at his trousers discretely, he tucked his chair a little further under the table. Greg’s legs entwined with his immediately.

Sighing, Mycroft began to pull on his suit jacket, indicating for his boyfriend to do the same. His meeting with the French President would have to wait. He wanted sex. And he wanted it now. 


	8. Drunk Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Drunk Lestrade please?

Greg stared hard at the front door to Mycroft’s flat. His key didn’t seem to be working. He banged his head against the wood, in order to increase his focus. Blinking hard, he took a deep breath and tried again. No luck. The key just wouldn’t fit. Bending down he leaned against the door and peered suspiciously at the keyhole. He was just in time to see a light flicker on inside.

Grinning, he stood up and leaned heavily against the door. It opened suddenly, and he tumbled through… conveniently, straight into Mycroft’s arms, which was exactly where he wanted to be.

‘Hey baby,’ he said, planting a kiss on his lover’s mouth. Well, almost his mouth. His co-ordination was a little off.

Mycroft wiped his chin with the back of his hand, and raised a disdainful eyebrow, pushing him back to stand upright. He was wrapped in a black silk dressing gown and his eyes were bleary with sleep. He looked adorable, Greg thought and he giggled to himself delightedly, leaning in to ruffle a hand through the man’s soft brown curls.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft said. ‘What on Earth are you doing?’

‘My key wouldn’t work,’ Greg explained, leaning in to bury his nose in Mycroft’s neck. He smelled so good. ‘You smell good,’ he added in a mumble.

Mycroft guided him through to the living room and then gave him a firm push. Toppling on to the sofa, Greg looked up at him, licking his lips.

‘You don’t have a key,’ Mycroft told him, folding his arms, ‘this is _my_ flat.’

Greg closed his eyes as the ceiling started swimming strangely above him. ‘Your flat?’

‘That’s right,’ Mycroft agreed, looking pleased. He settled down on the opposite armchair, and surveyed him seriously. ‘My flat.’

‘Can’t I drop by?’ Greg asked, standing up and prowling over to the armchair.

‘It appears you already have,’ Mycroft sighed, as Greg’s buried his head in his lap.

Greg had stopped listening. His boyfriend’s legs were a real distraction. Vaguely aware that the man was continuing to lecture him in the background, he pushed at the silky fabric of the dressing gown, revealing an extra inch of pale, freckled thigh. With a small hum of satisfaction he leaned in and pressed his lips to it.

He pushed the gown up higher and continued up Mycroft’s leg. As he neared his hip, long fingers tangled in his hair, and he realised the man had gone quiet. Looking up, he chuckled to see his lover had his eyes closed, a look of utter bliss on his face.

‘So what do you think?’ Greg slurred, moving his lips to brush against more sensitive skin.

‘About… what?’ Mycroft asked slowly, his breathing becoming a little ragged.

‘Can I have a key?’ Greg asked, before sucking lightly.

A small whimper, was all the answer he got. He pulled away.

Mycroft opened his eyes and looked down at him. He sighed heavily. ‘Yes, you can have a key…’

And with a firm hand on the back of Greg’s head, he pulled him in to finish what he’d started.  


	9. Kissing in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Snogging in the rain.

Greg groaned and dropped his head into his hands as Mycroft stormed out of the room. He sank back in his chair, and closed his eyes, hearing the front door closing with a bang. Getting to his feet, he walked over to the rain-streaked window to watch him go. Cutting an intimidating silhouette with his umbrella open over his head, Mycroft stalked off down the street.

The sky was mottled purple and black, a thunder storm clearly approaching. Greg rested his forehead against the cold glass as his lover… his ex-lover?… was lost in the gloomy fog. Rain was crashing down on the pavement outside, and the first rumblings of thunder were beginning in the distance.

He thumped a fist hard against the glass in an attempt to distract himself from a crueller pain which was cutting straight through him. A flash of lightning illuminated the street, casting everything into sharp relief for the shortest of moments. Long enough for Gregory to see Mycroft stood on the distant street corner, waiting for his car, head bowed down against the rain.

He was out of the room and into his shoes in seconds. Passing by the coat-rack without a second glance, he tugged open the door and ran out into the street. The wind tore through him as he broke into a sprint, biting at his exposed neck and face. His shirt was soaked to the skin by the time he reached Mycroft, who turned to watch his approach. The impossible man rose both eyebrows in apparent alarm.

Panting heavily, his heart racing in his chest, Greg crashed into him. Setting both hands on the man’s shoulders, he shook his own head breathlessly. Mycroft’s eyes glittered at him in the cold light, and all of a sudden Greg couldn’t stand it. He wound his arms around his lover’s neck and pulled him into a bruising kiss.

The surprised noise against his lips did nothing to deter him, and he pushed Mycroft against the nearest wall, never breaking contact.

The ice man softened beautifully in his arms, his chilled lips opening to let Greg’s tongue explore the warm cavern of his mouth.

The black umbrella fell to the ground as Mycroft wrapped his arms around him and tangled his hands in his hair.

They kissed furiously, working out their anger against the tall brick wall in the cold and the rain. With thunder raging in the background, their tongues fought roughly for dominance as, like a bird taking flight, the umbrella soared away into the wind.


	10. Tickle Fight

Greg was halfway down Mycroft’s torso, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake when the man made a sudden squawk. He lifted his head in confusion.

‘What?’ he asked.

Mycroft blushed, shifting underneath his grasp. ‘Nothing. Keep going.’

Doing as instructed, Greg moved lower, biting at his lover’s hip bones whilst caressing his sides. The squawk came again, making Greg jump this time. He squeezed Mycroft’s waist accidentally and, looking up, was amazed to see the other man dissolve into laughter.

‘What?’ he snapped. When had his foreplay techniques become funny? He was bloody good in bed, thanks very much, and the sight of his lover giggling hurt his pride.

Mycroft hands fastened over his own, pushing them away, and suddenly Greg understood. Smirking to himself in private delight, he removed his hands and feigned ignorance, returning to his kissing.

Once his lover had relaxed again, leaning back and closing his eyes, Greg made his move. Seeing an opportunity, he struck fast, and jabbed his fingers firmly into either side of the soft flesh at Mycroft’s waist.

The man screamed, sitting up abruptly and attempting to push Greg away.

Laughing, Greg began to tickle. Forgetting all about the blowjob he’d been on his way to giving, he moved to straddle Mycroft’s hips, who writhed helplessly beneath him, batting at his hands as he giggled uncontrollably.

‘S-stop,’ Mycroft panted from beneath him, ‘I demand…’ he gasped for breath, ‘…you sss-‘

‘Stop?’ Greg finished for him, continuing to tickle. He wriggled his fingers slowly up Mycroft’s sides, reaching his armpits and delving inside. A bad move as it turned out as suddenly firm hands landed on his chest, pushing him away and onto his back.

Moving at high speed, Mycroft sat up, twisted himself around and sat firmly down on top of him. He pinned Greg’s hands above his head and trailed one finger down his chest.

_‘You_ ,’ he began with an evil smirk, ‘are going to regret that, my love.’


	11. On A Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mycroft or Greg decide to break up. It doesn’t go well.

‘Ah… um… Mycroft,’ Greg muttered, trying to move around him in the tight hallway.

‘Yes, Gregory?’ Mycroft smiled, remaining firmly in place.

‘Excuse me,’ the man sighed, putting his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders in order to steer him gently out of the way.

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Gregory’s neck, and nuzzled at his ear. He breathed in deeply, savouring the scent he knew so well; cologne; mint; cigarettes.

‘ _Mycroft,’_ Greg repeated, more sternly this time.

‘Mm-hm?’ 

 ‘I thought we agreed to…’ he moved Mycroft’s fingers away from his shirt buttons, ‘…take a bit of a break.’

‘A break?’ Mycroft asked. He walked backwards into a corner, pulling Gregory with him. After all, it wasn’t his fault if they happened to run into each other in a deserted corridor in Scotland Yard. He often needed to be there. For… work related purposes.

‘Yeah…’ the other man nodded, reaching behind him to stop Mycroft’s hand as it slid lower down his back. ‘From each other,’ added pointedly.

‘Oh, Gregory,’ Mycroft shook his head, ‘surely we can still…’ He tugged suggestively on his ex-boyfriend’s belt buckle.

‘Um… well, no.’ He frowned, looking conflicted. ‘Not really.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah…’ Greg nodded, although he leaned in closer, pinning him to the wall.  

Mycroft slipped a hand inside the man’s trousers. ‘But you seem so interested…’ he smirked, enjoying the familiar hardness back in the palm of his hand.

His ex glared at him, before shoving him firmly back into the corner and crushing their lips together. Moaning in relief Mycroft bucked his hips forward, sliding his unoccupied hand around to squeeze tightly at Gregory’s firm, round arse. 


	12. The Double Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: a very cute, very fluffy, and very awkward Greg/Mycroft and John/Sherlock double date?

Sherlock stopped dead as they entered the restaurant, looking mortified. Following his gaze, John chuckled at the sight of Mycroft Holmes sat alone at a large corner table, set for two. A candle flickered in front of him and he was checking his watch nervously.

Sherlock turned abruptly, attempting to usher John back out of the door.

‘Nope,’ John shook his head, standing his ground. Although Mycroft wasn’t exactly top on his list of people he wanted to see, it had been difficult enough getting Sherlock out of the flat in the first place. There was no going back now. He was determined to have a proper date.

‘John, don’t be obtuse,’ Sherlock hissed, ‘we have to leave.’

‘No we don’t,’ John said. He smiled as a waiter arrived to walk them to their table, dragging his boyfriend along behind him, ‘he probably won’t even notice us.’

As soon as the words left his mouth, Mycroft Holmes looked up. Spotting his brother, his eyes narrowed, and he too looked as if he might make a dash for the door.

‘John!’ a voice called from behind them, as they reached their own table. Turning, both John and Sherlock stared in confusion at the sight of Greg Lestrade, hurrying across the restaurant. ‘Alright?’ he asked, grinning.

‘Um… yeah,’ John nodded.

‘This is getting ridiculous,’ Sherlock scowled, folding his arms, ‘why are you here Lestrade?’

‘Ah,’ Greg shrugged, and he turned around to scan the restaurant. His eyes fell on Mycroft, who tapped his watch and raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock’s gaze flickered between them, and his face contorted into an expression of utter revulsion. ‘No,’ he said.

‘Afraid so,’ Greg smiled. He clapped a hand on John’s shoulder, winking conspiratorially ‘why don’t you join us?’

‘Go on then,’ John grinned, grabbing Sherlock’s wrist to pull the man with him. He suspected he might live to regret this decision, but was unable to resist watching Mycroft Holmes attempt to date his little brother’s favourite Detective Inspector in front of their very eyes.…

…

The four of them sat in awkward silence. John was doing his best to avoid looking at Greg, as every time their eyes met it became more difficult not to descend into giggling.

Mycroft and Sherlock were engaged in what seemed to be a silent staring match, glaring at one another across the table and communicating through the occasional raising of an eyebrow.

Finally tearing his eyes away, Sherlock turned to Greg. ‘I hope you’re not going to have sex with him,’ he said, jabbing his fork in his brother’s general direction.

Greg said nothing, suddenly becoming very absorbed in his glass of wine. Mycroft smirked smugly and patted the man’s thigh reassuringly beneath the table.

Sherlock looked between them, disgust growing by the second. ‘Ugh,’ he grumbled.

‘So…’ John said, aiming for a less awkward subject matter. ‘How long have you two been seeing each other?’

At this the couple went very quiet, looking embarrassed. Mycroft checked his watch, and glared into the distance, over his brother’s head. Greg took another large gulp of wine, and then choked on it slightly.

‘Oh, y’know,’ he finally managed in response, ‘a while…’

‘Since last night, John,’ Sherlock corrected, curling his lip. Before adding, ‘I thought better of you Lestrade.’

‘Manners, Sherlock,’ Mycroft interjected, giving his little brother a condescending glare.

‘Says the man who decided to jump Scotland Yard’s finest in his office yesterday evening.’

John shut his mouth; abruptly realising it had been hanging open in astonishment. He looked Mycroft up and down discreetly, quite unable to believe such a pristine man was capable of doing something so, well… sexy. Copying Greg, he gulped at his wine, deciding the best way to get through the evening would be to drink as much as possible. He was beginning to wonder if he’d chosen the wrong brother.


	13. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mycroft and Gregory’s wedding

Greg looked long and hard at his reflection in the mirror of the hotel bedroom. He’d never looked so… pristine. Trussed up in a bespoke black suit, he looked slimmer, more elegant. His hair had been styled smoothly, no running his fingers through it today. And the look was completed with a deep purple bowtie- Mycroft’s choice; he’d said it complimented his skin tone.

Greg shook his head at himself in the mirror. If they were doing things his own way they’d be getting married in a registry office wearing jeans and t-shirts.

He wondered what Mycroft’s mother would make of that… very little, probably. She’d been chasing them around for months wanting information about the invitations; the venue; the food; even the flower arrangements.

The door opened behind him, and Greg watched Mycroft’s reflection enter the room. The man smirked at the sight of Greg in his suit.

‘Well, my love,’ his fiancé said, approaching the mirror and resting his chin on Greg’s shoulder. Their eyes met in the glass. ‘Aren’t _you_ going to be a treat to undress tonight?’

‘Am I?’ Greg grumbled, straightening his collar. He turned around to drop a light kiss on the man’s lips. ‘I thought you were supposed to be looking after your mother?’

Mycroft looked a little guilty. ‘I thought I’d come and see how you were getting on.’

‘Did you now?’ Greg asked, enjoying the way Mycroft was staring at him. It wasn’t exactly news to him that bespoke suits turned his lover on, but neither was it a kink he usually bothered to indulge.

Mycroft was running his hands over the smooth fabric of the waistcoat. He kissed Greg hard on the lips, before casually running a finger underneath the hem.

‘Um…’ Greg began, as the long fingers started to work on his belt buckle.

‘Yes, Gregory?’ Mycroft asked, eyes dark.

‘I just put this on.’ Greg grinned. ‘Seeing as we’re getting married in about ten minutes, I’d kind of like to keep it on.’

Sighing woefully, Mycroft dropped his hands to his sides and took a step backwards. Giving his fiancé a disappointed look, he turned to leave.

‘Save it for tonight, love,’ Greg called after him, still grinning, as his lover pulled open the door.

They both jumped slightly at the sight of Mycroft’s mother stood directly outside, arms crossed. She sighed impatiently and chivvied Mycroft out of the room, before pausing, looking confused. ‘Save what for tonight?’ she asked. 


	14. Were You Going to Have Sex?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Teen!Mystrade where kid!Sherlock walks in on them making out or something and they have to explain it to him

Mycroft took Gregory’s school bag from him as they entered the house and helped him out of his coat. Calling a brief greeting to Sherlock, wherever the little terror was, he grabbed his boyfriend’s arm and dragged him up the stairs.

He hadn’t kissed the other boy all day, and now he was more than ready to. He turned as they reached his bedroom door, taking both his hands and pulling him backwards through it. Pushing the door closed behind them, he immediately wrapped Gregory in a tight embrace, his heart racing as their lips moved slowly closer. He closed his eyes as they met, and murmured happily into the kiss.

At the first lick of his boyfriend’s tongue he opened his mouth willingly, and suddenly they were making out roughly against the door. Mycroft groaned; they had never kissed like this before. Gregory’s arms were wrapped firmly around his waist, and at the sound, his grasp tightened.

Mycroft found himself being lifted from his feet, and clung to the other boy as he was carried across the room and deposited firmly on his own bed.

‘Eager tonight my love,’ he whispered teasingly, as Greg crawled over him to kiss him again.

Greg grinned, ‘always.’

His hands trailed lower, one coming to rest on Mycroft’s arse who squirmed uncertainly, before tugging roughly at his boyfriend’s shirt and shoving both hands underneath to run up and down his back. Growling in approval, Greg repositioned himself so as to be able to rock their hips firmly together as they kissed. Leaving Mycroft a whimpering mess, he trailed his lips down to his neck and bit.

Mycroft threw his head back, giving his boyfriend more space and squeezed his eyes tightly closed. It was perfect. Exactly as he had imagined. He couldn’t believe how quickly it was all ha-

‘Crofty?’

He didn’t think he’d ever moved so fast in his life. Gregory groaned as he was thrown roughly off him, and fell off the side of the bed. Sitting up, Mycroft smoothed his shirt and hair, guilt seeping through him at the sight of his little brother stood uncertainly in the doorway, with tousled, knotted hair and a grubby face. 

‘Good afternoon, Sherlock,’ he smiled, deciding it would be best to pretend nothing had been happening.

Greg grumbled to himself, getting up off the floor, as Sherlock entered the room to sit with Mycroft on the bed dragging Rex, the toy dinosaur, behind him.

‘Would you like to play chess?’ Mycroft asked, keen to distract his brother who was glaring suspiciously at his boyfriend.

Sherlock turned to look at him and shook his head with a scowl. Then he glanced back at Greg and the frown deepened. ‘Were you going to have sex?’

‘No,’ Mycroft said quickly. ‘definitely not.’

Greg crossed his arms behind Sherlock’s back, pouting at him in mock disappointment.

‘What were you doing?’ Sherlock inquired, squeezing Rex tightly in his arms.  

‘Nothing,’ Mycroft smiled.

‘Kissing,’ Greg corrected.

Turning to look at Gregory, Sherlock narrowed his eyes. ‘Daddy will be furious.’

‘It’s none of Father’s business,’ Mycroft told him, firmly.  

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, still at an age to believe that _everything_ was his parents’ business.

‘You don’t have to kiss my brother,’ he told Greg, seriously. ‘There are girls who would kiss you.’

‘I don’t like kissing girls.’

‘There are boys who would kiss you too. Andrew Milton is gay. Try him instead.’

‘ _Andy_ is gay?’ Greg asked, leaning forwards in his chair, looking interested.

‘ _Gregory!_ ’ Mycroft hissed, watching the exchange in mild horror. He turned to frown disapprovingly at Sherlock. ‘Please stop trying to reassign my boyfriend.’

‘Boyfriend?’ Sherlock screwed up his face in repulsion as Greg smirked and waggled his eyebrows. ‘Eurgh!’


	15. On The Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mycroft and Greg getting caught as they fuck on the kitchen table in 221B.

Mycroft moaned loudly as Greg’s hand rubbed at the front of his trousers and he was backed roughly into the kitchen counter. Without a doubt, he should have known this would be a bad idea.

Admittedly he’d planned for his visit to coincide with Gregory’s, knowing the other man would arrive to find his brother’s flat empty. But a little harmless flirting was all he’d been counting upon. It seemed like the Detective Inspector had other things in mind.

Firm lips were crushed against his own as Greg withdrew his hand to start undoing Mycroft’s belt. Whimpering at the loss of contact, Mycroft pulled the other man closer, eagerly pushing his hips forwards into the large, firm hands. It had been a while.

He opened his mouth as Gregory’s tongue pressed against his lower lip, letting it push inside. Tugging frantically at the man’s shirt, he lost all sight of common sense. He had wanted this man since they day he’d first laid eyes on him, and he wasn’t about to turn him down now. Even if that meant shagging him in his little brother’s kitchen. 

‘Gregory,’ he gasped shamelessly, as strong fingers finally surrounded the length of his erection. He closed his eyes and tried not to pant as the man chuckled against his ear, biting at the lobe. ‘Fuck me,’ he requested breathlessly.

Greg pulled back to give him a surprised look, ‘here?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft insisted, hastily undoing the man’s belt before he had time to change his mind.

Smirking, Greg pulled him away from the work surface, and pressed him back against the table. Mycroft stepped out of his trousers and underwear, watching intently as Greg pushed down his own. Their lips met in one last bruising kiss before Mycroft was pushed back to lie down on the table top, and his legs were slung unceremoniously over the other man’s shoulders.

He heard Greg spit as he stared up at the ceiling, but somehow the sound didn’t make him shudder. Propping himself up he watched the man lubricate himself, before a hand on his chest pushed him back down and, with a groan, Gregory pressed himself against his entrance.

Mycroft bit his lip to stop himself crying out as the other man pushed into him. He barely had time to adjust before Greg had taken up swift rhythm, thrusting in firm hard strokes. Forgetting all about, trying to be quiet, Mycroft found himself breathing in short, sharp gasps, as he clung tightly to the sides of the table.

As Greg moved one hand to tug at his cock he cried out, thrusting his hips upwards into the grasp.

At that moment they were interrupted by a loud exclamation of horror.

‘Jesus Christ,’ John spat, stopping motionless in the doorway and clapping his hands over his eyes before backing out of the room.

Greg had stopped moving, but he didn’t make an effort to pull away.

‘Close the fucking door,’ he growled.        


	16. Suits Porn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mycroft takes Lestrade to Savile Row - just to take his bespoke suit off in the end.

‘Oh yes,’ Mycroft beamed in delight as Gregory pulled back the curtain, He turned to look at the tailor to check he too was admiring his husband. ‘What do _you_ think?’ he asked him.

‘It’s a good fit, Sir,’ the tailor told Mycroft, nodding. Getting on his knees, the man peered at Greg’s trouser cuffs. ‘The trousers will need to be shortened a little.’

‘Mm,’ Mycroft nodded in agreement. He leaned forward to adjust his husband’s tie. ‘Yes, perhaps a change of shirt as well.’

‘Do I get a say?’ Greg asked grumpily.

The tailor glanced uncertainly at Mycroft who shook his head. ‘Leave it to us, Gregory.’

Greg rolled his eyes, shifting around uncomfortably in the three-piece suit. The sight was truly delectable, Mycroft thought. He licked his lips as the tailor turned Gregory around to take more measurements. Without a doubt, his husband’s arse had never looked so good.

‘We’ll see some more shirts, I think,’ Mycroft told the tailor as he straightened up. He watched the man disappear back onto the shop floor before stepping forwards and pushing Gregory straight back into the changing room, whipping the curtain closed behind them.

Greg stared at him. ‘No.’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft insisted, pressing him into a corner. He ran his hands down his chest as he leaned in to kiss him, relishing the sensation of the expensive fabric against his skin. Pressing their lips together he ignored Gregory’s muted protests and slipped both hands around to squeeze his arse, moaning as he did so. ‘You look… so… very… sexy,’ he whimpered, between kisses.

Mycrof heard the other man chuckle is amusement as he finished the sentence by biting down firmly into his neck.  At last he was pulled in closer. Sighing in pleasure as he was swung around to be pushed against the wall, Mycroft set to work undoing the suit jacket.

Smirking, Gregory returned the gesture. ‘ _You_ … are a very bad man,’ he growled. 


	17. Sherlock Finds Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sherlock finds out about Greg and Mycroft. Preferably by accident & with some Sherlockian disgust at Greg’s taste and doubting of his mental state.

‘Oh, dear GOD.’

Sherlock slammed Lestrade’s office door seconds after opening it and stood with his back against it, staring wide eyed at John. 

‘Eh… what’s wrong?’ John asked with a frown.

Sherlock continued to stare straight ahead, seemingly not hearing the question. 

‘Sherlock?’ John gave the man a gentle prod, growing concerned.

Sherlock sprang to life at the touch. ‘I can’t-‘ He shuddered dramatically before violently tousling his hair. Finally pushing away from the doorframe he swept off down the corridor, his coat billowing out behind him. Reaching the corner, he disappeared and then poked his head back around before pointing between John and Lestrade’s office door. ‘Don’t go in _there,_ ’ he said. Wrinkling his nose he withdrew his head and vanished from sight.

John stood outside Lestrade’s office in utter confusion. He frowned and cocked his head to one side, listening for any noises. He was just inching in closer to peer through the keyhole when the door swung open and none other than Mycroft Holmes walked out.

‘Ah.’ Mycroft said, looking a little taken aback by the sight of John stood right in front of him. His cheeks were flushed pink and his hair was tousled. Whilst he usually looked impeccable, today’s three piece suit was definitely slightly crumpled. Mycroft bit his bottom lip, frowning, and John noticed it was a little swollen. 

‘Alright, Mycroft?’ he asked, with a sudden grin, as he realised exactly what Sherlock had seen.

Mycroft fixed him with a piercing stare, narrowing his eyes as he straightened his tie. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Where is Sherlock?’

John chuckled, ‘you scared him off.’ He stood up on his tip toes, trying to catch a glimpse of Lestrade behind him. What he saw was rather a lot more than he’d bargained for, and he winced, backing away slightly.

‘Oi,’ Lestrade snapped from inside. ‘Close the bloody door, Mycroft.’

Mycroft obliged, blushing more deeply. ‘You saw nothing,’ he told John imperiously, before striding off down the corridor in search of baby brother.

…

John stood his ground for a moment, blinking in amazement. Hearing shouting in the distance, he chuckled and set off in search of the disturbance. 

He found the two Holmes brothers working things out in an empty office. Sherlock was backing away his brother, covering his eyes. ‘Get away from me, you repulsive creature. What on Earth were you doing in there?’ 

‘We were having sex, Sherlock,’ Mycroft said simply, ‘People do, you know.’

‘In Scotland Yard?’ John asked, popping his head around the door. He was thoroughly enjoying this. 

Mycroft sighed heavily and twirled his umbrella, his ears turning pink. ‘I merely popped by for a cup of tea. Gregory got a little carried away.’

Sherlock shuddered and made a dash out of the door, pulling John along behind him. ‘He wasn’t the only one,’ he called back over his shoulder.


	18. The Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lestrade tries to propose, but nerves, waiters and a dashing Mycroft get in the way.

Greg stared at the little black box in his hands. It seemed so surreal. He opened it up and stared at the contents, before snapping it quickly closed and breathing out heavily. Slipping the box into his pocket, he stood up to check his reflection in the mirror. With a low groan he ran his hands through his hair, trying to fix it in place. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet nervously, staring at himself until the doorbell rang.

‘Good evening, Gregory,’ Mycroft beamed at him, as he pulled open the door. ‘Are you ready to go?’

The man looked… incredible. But then he always did. He was wearing a slim fitting three piece suit in a light grey tweed, paired with a pale blue shirt and a deep navy tie.

Greg nodded speechlessly and pulled the door closed behind him.

…

He’d ask him later, Greg decided as they sat down at the table. Give himself chance to relax a little first. Maybe he’d ask before dessert…

Or over dessert…

Or after dessert…

Or over coffee…

He clung to the little box which was digging into his skin through the thin material of his trouser pockets. Mycroft scooped the last of the foam from his empty cappuccino cup with a teaspoon, and brought it up to his mouth, humming appreciatively and closing his eyes as he placed it in his mouth and licked it clean.

Greg gulped. His throat felt like sandpaper. His heart was crashing into his ribcage.

‘Are you quite alright, my love?’ Mycroft asked, giving him a suspicious look, ‘you seem a little…’ he waved his spoon around searching for the word, ‘…distressed.’

 ‘I want to ask you something,’ Greg said bravely, pushing his own  cup to one side.

‘Yes?’

‘I was wondering… I mean…  I’d like it if…’ He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, ‘will you-‘

‘All finished, Sir?’ The waiter interrupted with a bright smile. He gestured at their empty cups.

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, nodding. ‘Yes, thank-you. Bring the bill please.’

Greg slumped in his seat. The bill? He couldn’t propose over the bill. He was trying to be romantic here.

‘You were saying, love?’ Mycroft asked him as the waiter disappeared.

Greg shook his head. ‘Never mind.’

…

They stood on his doorstep in the chilly evening air, wrapped in a warm embrace. Mycroft tongue was brushing against his own inside his mouth.

It would be fine, Greg thought, he could try again once they were inside. Or maybe even surprise him when they woke up in the morning. That would work, wouldn’t it?

‘You coming in?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t, my love,’ Mycroft shook his head, looking disappointed. ‘I have an early meeting in the morning.’ He leaned in closer to kiss him again briefly, before turning on his heels.

‘No- wait!’ Greg huffed as the man began to walk away. Reaching out, he grabbed his arm to stop him. ‘I-um…I…’

Mycroft raised an inquiring eyebrow. ‘Do spit it out, Gregory.’

Growling in frustration, he threw his hands in the air, and finally shouted, ‘I want you to marry me.’

Mycroft’s mouth fell open. He blinked several times in rapid succession and made a strange gulping noise. They stood in silence and stared at each other in the evening light.

Greg sighed and tried again. Putting a hand up to rest on the man’s cheek, he stepped closer and raised his eyebrows questioningly. ‘Will you?’

‘I… ah… oh…’ Mycroft began to smile. He giggled nervously and leaned in to kiss Greg’s lips. ‘Of course.’

‘Are you coming in now?’

‘Yes. Yes I think I will.’


	19. Chicken Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I would /love/ to see some good old-fashioned care taking. Perhaps an ill Greg or Mycroft? Either would do. So long as they’re fussy about being looked after, because they’re /clearly/ capable of taking care of themselves (being grown men and all). Cuddles and homemade soup would be lovely.

Greg was awoken by a series of loud sneezes. With a low groan, he propped himself up on his elbows peering across the room, gloomy with grey early morning light. Mycroft was stood in front of the mirror, fumbling with a tie, his fingers shaking. Noticing Greg had awoken, he turned and opened his mouth to speak but doubled over in a coughing fit instead. His face was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes.

‘Where are you going?’ Greg sighed.

Mycroft frowned, looking confused. ‘To work.’

‘No.’ Greg pushed back the covers and got to his feet. ‘No, you’re not. You’re ill.’

Mycroft laughed hoarsely, ‘oh don’t be ridiculous, Gregory. I’m never ill.’

‘You are today,’ Greg reprimanded him, removing the man’s askew tie and setting to work on his suit buttons.

‘Not now, Gregory. I’ll be late.’

‘I’m not trying to shag you,’ Greg rolled his eyes. ‘I’m trying to get you back into bed.’

‘I fail to see the difference.’

‘You need rest.’

Mycroft chuckled as Greg pushed off his suit jacket. ‘I don’t,’ he said, sniffing loudly.

But Greg noticed he didn’t resist as he was undressed. By the time he’d been stripped off his waistcoat and shirt, the man was leaning against him in a semi-stupor, blinking in confusion. His bare skin was hot and feverish to the touch.

‘Stay,’ Greg ordered as he manhandled his lover back into bed. He pulled off the suit trousers, ignoring the muffled protests he received. ‘I’ll ring Anthea,’ he told him, leaving the bedroom.

…

He had barely finished on the phone when he heard the click of the front door.

‘Mycroft!’ he shouted, shooting out of the kitchen, to see the man freezing in the doorway. He was fully dressed once more, carrying a briefcase and clearly making a bid for freedom.

Greg tore after him down the hallway, wrapping firm arms around his waist and dragging him back to the bedroom. ‘I’m under strict instructions to keep you in the house,’ he told Mycroft, as he began to undress him again.

‘Mm… oh…’ Mycroft mumbled as he was slung across the mattress and covered with the duvet.

‘I’ll make you some soup,’ Greg told him, turning to leave.

Mycroft giggled loudly behind him.

‘What?’

Mycroft rolled over and smirked, his smug demeanour somewhat compromised by the loud sneeze that followed. ‘I just wanted you to undress me again.’ 


	20. Lovebites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mycroft really enjoying his little game with Sherlock aka “lets see how long it will take him to find out about us, Greg” with placing some confusing signs on Greg on purpose?

‘Mycroft…’

‘Mm?’

‘ _Mycroft!’_

_‘Mm-hm?_

‘Don’t bite.’

‘Mm,’ Mycroft moaned as Gregory tugged him away by the hair. His own cheeks were flushed and his lips swollen. He’d left a glowing pink mark on his lover’s neck. He smirked happily.

‘You didn’t?’ Greg asked, raising an eyebrow and looking dangerous. He lifted a finger to run it over the spot.

‘Not at all,’ Mycroft placated him. Leaning forwards for one last kiss, he patted Greg’s bum appreciatively, before turning to leave the man’s office. ‘Have a good day.’

 

…

Greg sighed and slumped down into his chair as Mycroft left the room. Mid day snogging sessions in his office probably weren’t the best idea. Now he was significantly aroused and had been abandoned with only a pile of paperwork to distract him.

…or not. He looked up in annoyance as Sherlock Holmes bounded into the room, John entering cautiously behind him, giving a cursory knock as he did so.

‘Now what?’ Greg huffed.

Sherlock  beamed at him and rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ve worked it all out. Arrest the park keeper. You were really terribly slow to have missed the signs,’ he bragged, placing his hands on the side of the desk and looking down at Greg. ‘It was incredibly ob…’ he paused, frowning, ‘…vious.’

Leaning in closer, he peered at Lestrade with narrowed eyes. ‘A new lover,’ he said dramatically, standing up and crossing his arms victoriously.

John chuckled behind him. ‘You don’t have to be the world’s only consulting detective to see that, Sherlock.’

‘I… what are you talking about?’ Greg asked. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realised exactly what they were talking about. He groaned, and put a hand up to cover the apparent mark on his neck. Mycroft Holmes was going to be in a whole lot of trouble tonight.

‘But who is it?’ Sherlock asked excitedly, clearly relishing the challenge. In a sudden swoop, he dropped down to Lestrade’s level and threw himself across the desk in order to stick his nose into his face, sniffing furiously.

‘Bugger off,’ Greg snapped, flapping him away.

Sherlock frowned. ‘Interesting.’ He turned to John. ‘That’s a classic, yet exclusive brand of aftershave that Lestrade could never afford… my brother wears it, actually,’ he added as an afterthought.

John’s eyes widened, as he met Greg’s gaze. ‘You mean, you and Mycroft…?’ he trailed off.

Sherlock chuckled at him, shaking his head. ‘Oh don’t be ridiculous John. Who in their right mind would have sex with my brother?’ He frowned, suddenly serious again. ‘No. It must be someone else.’ He steepled his hands and closed his eyes looking thoughtful.

‘Right,’ John nodded looking distinctly unconvinced, ‘of course.’

Greg met his eyes over the table and smirked as John raised a questioning eyebrow. He winked casually. John chuckled and settled into the nearest chair, and they both sat back to enjoy the sight of the world’s only consulting detective completely ignoring the only logical conclusion.


	21. Dom!Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bondage with dom!Mycroft

They were both naked and kissing frantically, practically wrestling in the darkened room. Greg groaned as Mycroft slammed him into the wall, pushing into him and rubbing up against him. Their hips aligned and ground roughly against each in the corner.

Parting his lips, Greg let Mycroft’s tongue push inside. It swept around his mouth possessively, whilst the man’s hands ran over his body. They tumbled together backwards onto the bed, where Greg was rolled onto his back as his lover slung one leg over him, trapping him in place. The man’s hands’ swept down to caress Greg’s stomach. Mycroft sat up, straddling him and smirked.

‘The things I want to do to you,’ he murmured.

Greg could hardly breathe. ‘Please,’ he groaned, bucking his hips upwards, desperately seeking fiction.

Chuckling Mycroft shook his head. ‘I think you’ll find  _I’m_  in charge, Detective Inspector.’

The man reached down to the floor, staying firmly on top of him, and retrieved a tie from the abandoned pile of clothing. He looked at Greg, his eyes dark as burning coals, and licked his lips.

‘Give me your hands’

If Greg had told himself a week ago that he would be willingly allowing Mycroft Holmes to tie him to a bed, he would have laughed. But now he offered his hands freely, his heart beating fiercely with heated anticipation as they were fastened neatly to the headboard.

‘I’m going to make you scream,’ Mycroft told him matter of factly, somehow managing to make the words sexy rather than sinister.

As his lover moved down the bed, Greg closed his eyes and bit down on his lip to stop himself moaning. Warm lips brushed across his neck, his chest, his biceps, his thighs, his feet, decidedly ignoring his straining erection.

‘Tease,’ he complained, in a rough voice, thrusting upwards into Mycroft’s stomach as the man crawled back up the bed to hold himself suspended a few centimetres above him.

Growling in disapproval, Mycroft pressed a finger into Greg’s mouth. ‘I can think of better things that tongue could be doing,’ he purred.

Sucking the finger willingly, Greg couldn’t suppress the flutter of pride which shot through him as his lover’s eyes drifted closed, his mouth opening in a silent sigh. The man was orally fixated.

The man shuffled further up his torso, coming to rest on his chest. He ran long, slim fingers through Greg’s hair, before tugging his head firmly forwards.

‘Guess what I want you to do next,’ he smirked.


	22. The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mycroft and Greg discuss their future. Things like kids and where to live and all that mess.

‘I was hoping we could have a little chat,’ Mycroft began nervously, shrugging off his suit jacket as he went to join his boyfriend in the kitchen. Greg took a swig of beer and stopped cutting sweet potatoes.

‘Yeah?’ he smiled, turning around, but glancing distractedly at the recipe book as he did so.

‘Yes.’ Mycroft said, taking a seat at the table. He fiddled nervously with his cufflinks, uncertain how to begin.

‘Well, you’re probably gonna have to start then.’ Greg grinned, joining him.

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, and then took a deep breath and closed it again. He avoided Greg’s eye, before stealing his beer and taking a long swig of it, wrinkling his nose up at the taste.

‘Oh, shit,’ Greg stared at him in horror. ‘You’re gonna break up with me.’

Mycroft blinked in confusion. ‘I…’

‘No!’ Greg said, standing up, he turned his back on Mycroft and returning to slicing potatoes, slightly more vigorously this time. ‘Don’t you dare.’

‘I…’

‘I won’t let you,’ Greg growled, throwing the slices into a saucepan.

‘But…’

‘No!’ The man turned on him and folded his arms, shaking his head resolutely.

‘Gregory!’ Mycroft snapped,’ I wasn’t going to.’

‘O-oh,’ Greg took a gulp of beer, looking relieved and a little embarrassed. ‘What is it then?’

 ‘I was wondering… if perhaps… we should start to think about things.’

Greg frowned, now looking thoroughly confused. ‘What things?’

‘The…’ Mycroft cleared his throat, ‘…the future.’

‘You want to spend the future with me?’ his lover grinned. He chuckled delightedly. ‘Aw.’

‘If you’re not going to take this seriously…’

‘No! I am.’ Greg adopted a serious expression, and took Mycroft’s hands, pulling him closer. ‘Keep going.’

‘Well… it seems to me that it might be beneficial for both of us if we were together more frequently on a daily, and nightly, basis. But it is a very long drive for you to get here, and I have no intention of staying overnight at your flat more often because it is rather a dump. In light of this I was thinking that perhaps the logical solution would be…well… if…’

Greg rolled his eyes. ‘Are you asking me to move in?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft beamed, in relief. Glad he hadn’t actually had to say it. ‘I am.’

‘Alright then,’ Greg smiled, leaning in to kiss him. ‘Anything else you wanted to talk about?’

‘Well… no.’ Wasn’t that significant enough? Mycroft frowned, scanning Gregory’s face. He’d hoped for a little more enthusiasm.

‘You sure?’ Greg grinned, ‘Marriage? Kids? Meeting your elusive mother?’

‘You’re not taking this seriously.’ Mycroft sighed, turning his back to rummage in the fridge for a beer. Maybe they weren’t so bad after all. He wanted to get drunk now.

Warm arms wrapped around him from behind as he straightened up, and his lover’s lips brushed over his neck.

‘Actually,’ Greg murmured in his ear, ‘I wasn’t joking.’


	23. In The Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Greg only stopped by Mycroft’s office for official police business… but then the door closed behind him….

Greg smiled at Anthea as he knocked on Mycroft’s office door. It was a beautiful day, and golden light was streaming in through the window, making the usually gloomy building glow with pleasant warmth. He was determined to take his boyfriend to lunch.

Anthea raised an eyebrow at him, ‘you won’t shift him.’

‘Come in,’ a sharp voice barked from inside.

Smiling hopefully at Anthea, Greg took a deep breath and opened the door.

Mycroft was hunched over his desk. He was frowning at a pile of paperwork and looking thoroughly disagreeable. The blinds had been pulled firmly down over the windows, and the room was dark and stiflingly warm.

‘Hey, baby,’ Greg grinned, enjoying being able to walk into this office without feeling as if he were about to be interrogated at gun point. He should have slept with Mycroft Holmes sooner.

The man sat back in his chair and frowned at him. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Taking you to lunch,’ Greg explained, opening the blinds and pushing the windows wide to let the midday air flood the room.

‘I’m busy,’ Mycroft returned to his paperwork, squinting against the light as he tried to focus.

Greg sat down opposite him and surveyed him from across the desk. The man looked exhausted, he thought. Definitely in need of a break… a little relaxation. He thought that over for a moment and then kicked off a shoe and extended one leg, pushing his foot under the hem of Mycroft’s trousers.

The man tensed, and shook him off. ‘Gregory, I don’t have time for this.’

‘Don’t you?’ Greg stood up and rounded the desk, ignoring the way Mycroft’s eyes followed him suspiciously. He came to rest behind the man’s chair, and rested his hands on his shoulders. ‘You’re all tense.’

Mycroft made a harrumphing noise of disapproval, but didn’t complain as Greg slowly began to massage his shoulders, working out the knots. Still he soldiered on with his paperwork, head bowed, and barely acknowledging his lover’s presence.

Greg checked his watch. _He_ wouldn’t have time for this if they didn’t get a move on pretty soon. Loosening his hold on Mycroft’s shoulders, he bent in low to kiss the back of his neck. Mycroft shook his head mutely as if discouraging bothersome fly. With a low growl, Greg bit sharply downwards.

‘Gregory!’ Mycroft snapped, throwing down his pen and swinging his chair around to face him. ‘What are you doing?’

Thoroughly fed up now, Greg said nothing as Mycroft stood up and crossed his arms. He scanned his boyfriend from head to toe, taking in the annoyingly perfect three piece suit, the shiny shoes, the… _oh._ ‘You don’t look like you’re complaining,’ Greg grinned, looking pointedly at the man’s crotch.

‘Well, I am,’ Mycroft huffed, blushing a little. He turned to sit back down in his chair and growled in frustration as it was whipped out of his grasp and sent rolling across the room. ‘Go away,’ he said petulantly, standing over his desk instead and taking up his pen.

Greg pressed in close behind him and wrapped his arms around the man’s waist. Ignoring the slight struggle, he mouthed at his lover’s earlobe, before scraping his teeth carefully along it. With a steady, practised grasp he ran one hand firmly up Mycroft’s thigh to rub over the distended fabric at his groin. The man went very still in his arms, ‘I… not here…’

Smirking, Greg sucked on the sensitive spot just behind his ear. ‘No?’

‘N-no,’ Mycroft mumbled, leaning right back into him as his pen clattered to the floor. ‘I… um… I….’

‘You?’ Greg prompted trying not to grin. He pushed his hips forward, making his own desire known as it rubbed against his lover’s clothed arse.

Mycroft whimpered and twisted in his grasp. He wrapped his arms around Greg’s neck and crushed their lips together. The man’s lips opened wantonly as they kissed and Greg pushed his tongue inside, licking around the inside of his mouth. Smirking as Mycroft whimpered once more, he squeezed firmly at his arse. The man’s mouth moved to his neck and he sucked desperately at the skin there.

With a groan, Greg shoved him backwards, sliding his hands to the back of his thighs in order to lift his lover up to sit on the desk. Long legs wrapped pleasingly around his hips and, ignoring the half hearted protests, Greg set to work on the shining belt buckle.


	24. Kid!Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: More Sherlock kid!fic please? Maybe with him being angry at Lestrade.

Sherlock slurped his strawberry milkshake, eyeing them suspiciously from across the table. With a mischievous expression he blew bubbles through the straw, causing a pink flood on the table cloth. Before asking, worriedly, ‘you’re not going to kiss are you?’

‘Not in front of you,’ Mycroft smiled, wiping up the spilled milk with a paper napkin. He took a sip of his espresso, trying not to wrinkle his nose up at the taste. He’d only ordered it to impress Gregory, who was happily drinking a frothy hot chocolate.

‘But definitely later,’ Greg added with a grin.

Screwing his face up in disgust, Sherlock sniffed loudly and wrinkled his button nose. He blew more milkshake at Greg from across the table. ‘You’re a pervert.’

‘Sherlock!’ Mycroft reprimanded, ‘mind your manners.’ He was busily trying to ignore the fact that his boyfriend was feeling up his thigh underneath the table.

All he really wanted to do was get home and crawl under his bed sheets for a full on make-out session. But there was no chance of that happening with his baby brother around. The little terror wouldn’t leave them alone for a minute.

‘He’s touching you.’

Greg removed his hand with a low groan, turning to look miserably out of the window. Rain was splashing against the glass plane of the coffee shop, and outside the sky was a deep grey.

‘Not anymore,’ Mycroft sighed sadly.

‘Good. Don’t touch him,’ he told Greg crossly. ‘He doesn’t have time for you.’

‘I do have time for you, Gregory.’

‘You’d better,’ Greg raised his eyebrows, checking his watch.

Mycroft nodded, swallowing his last mouthful of espresso. If he didn’t do something very soon he suspected he was going to end up very sexually frustrated for a very long time. Perhaps they could leave Sherlock with Mrs Watson.

‘Would you like to go and play with John?’ he asked, hopefully.

Sherlock frowned, looking conflicted. ‘Will you kiss when I’m gone?’

‘Certainly not.’ He could think of other things to do with his mouth, after all.

‘Mm…’ his brother wiped his pink milk moustache away with the back of his hand, ‘alright, then.’ 


	25. Shower Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Taking a shower together.

Mycroft was barely aware of the hot water beating down on them. He was too busy focusing on Greg’s lips, his tongue, his _…_ teeth. Moaning softly he pushed the older man enthusiastically back against the shower wall, leaning against him as they kissed.

Gregory’s body was warm and slick against his own. They rubbed against each other, both hard, almost painfully aroused and as the man’s hands groped at his arse, Mycroft found himself wishing Gregory would simply turn him around and abuse it in other ways…

Still, that would have to wait for another time, they didn’t have long. Instead, he sunk to his knees and looked up at his lover, squinting against the flow of the water. Greg tangled a hand in his hair encouragingly, pulling him in, and Mycroft licked teasingly at the head of his straining erection.

A low groan was emitted from above him. Moving in, Mycroft wrapped his lips around the head of his lover’s cock, sucking gently, as he stroked the length with his hand.

Greg bucked his hips forwards impatiently, and he opened his mouth obligingly, letting him slide fully inside. He moaned languidly around it, putting on a show for his lover, who was watching him intently.

 Although, he hardly needed to make his enthusiasm any more obvious. A powerful heat was building within him that he was certain had absolutely nothing to do with the warmth of the water. Unable to resist, he wrapped a hand around himself as he sucked at Gregory’s cock, thoroughly aroused and rather desperately needing to do something about it.

Greg swore softly above him, pushing Mycroft torwards him with a firm palm to the back of his head and groaning as his throat relaxed to accommodate him.

‘Oh, _God,’_ the man gasped, fucking his mouth with abandon.

The sound; the taste; his lover’s words were all too much and Mycroft whimpered hopelessly around the thick cock in his mouth as he came suddenly over his own hand. Greg chuckled above him, earning himself a scraping of teeth across sensitive flesh as Mycroft growled in disapproval.

Letting the water wash the evidence away he brought both hands up to rest on the man’s sturdy hips, encouraging him to build to a fast, staccato rhythm.

A little annoyed that his efforts hadn’t yielded results sooner, he slipped one hand around to squeeze at Gregory’s arse, before pushing one finger mercilessly inside him.

Greg increased his pace, grunting softly as the finger rubbed roughly against the sweet spot within. There was a loud cry, and Mycroft felt his lover tense, before he came with three more faltering thrusts deep inside his mouth.


	26. Sexy Secretary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Anthea is sick, so Mycroft has a new assistant for a day (a gorgeous male assistant) and Lestrade is jealous

Mycroft was not best pleased when he learnt that Anthea was ill. He needed an assistant, and whilst he had been offered a temporary fill-in, she was irreplaceable.

By the time he arrived at the office he was already in a terrible mood. He made a point of frowning at everyone he met, enjoying watching people scurry out of his way as he strode down the corridor. His footsteps echoed loudly on the polished floor.

Mycroft stopped dead at the sight of Anthea’s desk. Or rather… the sight of who was behind Anthea’s desk. A tall, blond haired man in a slim fitting black suit was reclined in the chair, looking… well… delicious.

He had high cheekbones, and full lips, and from what Mycroft could make out, beneath that suit was a rather pleasing physique. The man would have been better suited to the pages of an erotic magazine than to Mycroft’s office.

‘Hello,’ he said, approaching him with a smile, fussing with his hair as he did so. There was one curl which would never stay in place.

 

The man looked up at him and grinned wolfishly, twirling a pen between his fingers. ‘Hello.’

Mycroft’s insides melted like ice-cream. He gawped at the work of art sat in front of him. ‘That’s a very… nice… suit,’ he said, awkwardly, wincing internally as he did so. The man in front of him smirked, as if able to read his every thought.

‘Thanks, Sir. Anything I can do for you?’

_Oh, so many things,_ Mycroft thought, hopelessly. He shook his head, feeling a little dazed and then backed away from the desk towards his office door. ‘No… I… I am just fine, I will be fine.’

He scuttled inside his office, exhaling in relief as he collapsed into his desk chair. Anthea had almost definitely had something to do with this, he thought. It was probably her idea of a joke. Not that he was complaining… maybe he could have two assistants from now on. Anthea could do the important things, and this man could carry his coat. And look sexy. So… very… sexy. He stared down at the papers on his desk, not reading a word.

In something of a stupor, he closed his eyes and listened to the ticking of the clock, reflecting on everything he had just seen.

…

‘Sir?’

Mycroft jumped at the sound of the man’s deep, _creamy_ voice. He was stood in the doorway looking the picture of sophistication and elegance. His blond curls framing his face, his eyebrows raised inquisitively.

‘Yes?’ he replied, leaning back in his chair and attempting to look as inviting as possible.

‘There’s someone here to see you.’

Mycroft sat forwards abruptly as Gregory entered the room. His boyfriend gave the assistant a deeply suspicious look before raising an inquisitive eyebrow at Mycroft.

‘Hey, honey,’ he said, crossing his arms as he pointedly staked his claim.

Mycroft smiled warmly at his new assistant. ‘Thank you very much,’ he said, eager to get him out of the way as quickly as possible. He definitely didn’t check out his arse as he left the room.

‘Who was that?’ Greg asked him settling into the chair across from him.

‘My new assistant,’ Mycroft said, waving a hand nonchalantly.

‘Thought you’d get yourself a bit of eye-candy for the office, did you?’ Greg asked, putting his feet up on the desk.

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Gregory.’ Mycroft smiled, ‘He’s only temporary. Besides _I_ can’t help that he looks like a…’ He trailed off, realising he was heading for trouble.

‘A porn star?’ Greg offered.

Mycroft chuckled nervously. He’d been thinking more along the lines of a fallen angel. 


	27. Adoption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mystrade adopt two children. First John, then Sherlock. Domestic family fluff please :)

‘Sherlock?’ Greg shouted, noticing a trail of muddy footprints ascending the stairs. Shaking his head, he pulled the front door closed behind him and shrugged out of his work jacket. Hearing voices from the living room, he ambled inside, smiling at the sight of Mycroft engaged in a teddy bears’ tea party with John.

‘Tea?’ John asked him, holding up the china teapot. He was dressed in a knitted jumper and had a large black teddy in his arms. Mycroft meanwhile was resplendent in a three piece suit, with Paddington Bear sat on his lap.

Greg rolled his eyes at the scene; only Mycroft would let a child play with expensive china teacups. ‘No thanks. Where’s Sherlock?’

‘I don’t know,’ Mycroft sighed, setting Paddington to one side and standing up. He approached Greg and kissed him lightly on the lips, causing John to squeal in protest behind them. ‘He wouldn’t sit still.’

‘Why are there muddy footprints up the stairs?’

‘Are there?’ Mycroft asked, looking horrified. ‘How terrible.’ He peered around Greg into the hall, and started tutting loudly.

‘Why weren’t you watching him?’ Greg inquired, folding his arms.

‘He doesn’t like me,’ Mycroft sighed. ‘He said you’re his favourite.’

‘Really?’ Greg chuckled. Then he looked at the footprints. ‘I might not be for much longer.’

‘Are you going to tell him off?’

‘Well one of us should.’

‘Not I,’ Mycroft said, ‘he won’t listen to me.’

At that moment Sherlock came hurtling down the stairs, covered from head to toe in mud and carrying a hedgehog in one hand. Mycroft backed away in alarm as the boy collided with Greg and wrapped his arms around him. He stepped back and handed him the hedgehog, which was curled up into a terrified ball. Greg took it carefully, smiling in delight.

‘I found it,’ Sherlock told him eagerly. ‘I tracked it down, and then lured it in with a slug.’

‘Lovely,’ Mycroft sniffed, taking a cautious step forward to poke at the little creature. ‘Don’t hedgehogs have maggots?’

‘You have maggots,’ Sherlock told him, sticking his tongue out and scowling furiously.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft protested, gesturing at the muddy footprints.

‘Yeah, never mind,’ Greg shrugged. He grinned at Sherlock, handing back the hedgehog, ‘want to give it some milk?’ 


	28. Missing Jeans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mycroft tries to get Greg to move in without actually asking him to move in.

A year into their relationship Greg began to notice little changes. Things that he had definitely never moved from his own flat started appearing in his lover’s home. His own shower gel, his own brand of toothpaste, several dozen pairs of socks, most of his underwear, some suits and all his tightest pairs of jeans (he noticed the baggy ones were left untouched in his own wardrobe). Still, he was dating the British Government, and had learnt to accept the little idiosyncrasies that brought.

Yet as the months went by, the things that appeared in Mycroft’s flat became more and more personal. His comic collection, his photograph albums, his favourite books, his tool kit, and in a particularly alarming occurrence his full supply of condoms and lube. He supposed that was his lover’s way of ensuring that he was the only one they’d be used on. Although, that really wasn’t necessary.

For the most part he took it in his stride, didn’t even kick up a fuss when his Tardis mug vanished into space, only to materialise the next morning in Mycroft’s kitchen. But the day he arrived at home after a long and stressful case, settled down on the sofa and looked up to find his television had gone missing, it was the final straw.

 

He got in his car and drove in growing irritation over to the man’s house, before storming up the stone steps and banging furiously on the door.

‘Hello, my love,’ Mycroft smiled delightedly at the sight of him on the doorstep.

Greg growled, pushing his way past the man and beginning to prowl through the rooms. ‘Where the fuck is my television?’

‘I thought you might like it in our bedroom,’ Mycroft told him serenely. ‘I know you like to laze about. Cup of tea?’

‘Laze about!? Bugger off. You can’t just steal my television.’

‘I didn’t steal it.’ His lover adopted a hurt expression. ‘I had it relocated.’

‘Why?’

‘You spend more time in my bed than you do on your sofa. It only seemed logical. Cup of tea?’

‘No,’ Greg shook his head, pushing open the bedroom door. His television had been set up at one end of room, opposite Mycroft’s king size bed. It was the perfect set-up for a lazy Sunday lie-in. Not that he was about to admit that.

‘Is there a problem?’ he was asked, carefully.

‘Why do you keep taking my stuff?’

‘I thought it might encourage you to spend more time here…’ Mycroft explained slowly.

‘It might force me to spend more time here. Are you trying to move me in?’

Mycroft paused delicately, refusing to meet his eye. ‘Would that be a problem?’

Greg shrugged out of his suit jacket, and clambered onto the bed, picking up the remote from the bedside table. ‘I guess not… maybe I’ll have that cup of tea after all.’ 


	29. Handcuffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I think they need to make use of the Detective Inspector’s handcuffs. ;-)

‘Hey,’ Greg grinned as Mycroft opened the door. The smell of cooking wafted through the doorway, and inside his boyfriend’s house was bright and welcoming. He stepped inside and, unable to wait, announced, ‘I brought something with me.’

‘And what’s that?’ Mycroft asked him, pulling him into a warm embrace.

‘Wait and see,’ Greg winked, heading off into the kitchen to locate the source of the smell. A pot of seafood was simmering on the stove.

‘Bouillabaisse,’ Mycroft explained, ‘… is it to do with sex?’

‘How did you know?’

‘You’re being very…’ he paused, searching for words, ‘… _lascivious_.’

Greg stopped inspecting the food in order to approach his lover. He crowded him into the corner of the room, pressing him up against the fridge, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. ‘I’ll be even more _lascivious_ if you’re not careful.’

Mycroft’s tongue poked out to wet his lips, ‘is that a promise?’

‘Oh yeah,’ Greg grinned pressing one thigh between the man’s legs in order to rub up against him. He began mouthing at his throat, sucking slightly, and biting roughly at the skin below the collar. His lover sighed contentedly and began unbuttoning Greg’s shirt.

Trying not to laugh against Mycroft’s neck, Greg waited until the man’s eyes were closed before slipping his hand into his own trouser pocket and pulling out a pair of handcuffs. With practised ease, he snapped the metal rings closed around his lover’s wrists. The man blinked in surprise, looking down to see himself bound.

‘Wanna make use of these now?’ Greg asked him, stepping back to enjoy the sight of the British Government completely at his mercy.

 ‘It seems you already have…’ Mycroft frowned, trying to tug free.

‘Oh, that’s just the beginning.’ Greg pulled Mycroft towards him, before turning him around and walking him in the direction of the bedroom, running a hand up and down one long leg as he did so. ‘I can think of a few more things I’d like to do to you.’

‘Oh, really?’ Mycroft smirked, turning to face him as they reached the bed. He pouted slightly and leaned in to tease Greg’s ear with his teeth, whispering a pleading ‘please be gentle with me Detective Inspector.’

Grinning, Greg pushed him backwards to fall on top of the mattress. He crawled over him predatorily. ‘If you’re good.’

‘What if I’m bad?’ Mycroft asked him seductively, raising his eyebrows and stretching his bound arms out behind his head. He pushed his hips up into Greg’s, and purposefully licked his own lips.

Greg  ran a hand over the distended fabric at the man groin, shamelessly feeling him up through his trousers. ‘I hope you are,’ he told him.


	30. DIY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mycroft is surprisingly good at DIY, and Greg finds this surprisingly attractive.

‘Mycroft?’ Greg asked, uncertainly, stepping into the living room. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Painting,’ Mycroft huffed from his position on the chair. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ He was stretching up to roller white paint over the ceiling, his t-shirt riding up with the movement, revealing a delicious sliver of bare skin. And he was wearing _jeans_.

‘Yeah,’ Greg moved closer, so as to be able to stand behind Mycroft and get a good look at his legs and behind. They looked so good in denim. He licked his lips. ‘I’ve never seen you in jeans before.’

‘That’s not an excuse to stare at my arse,’ his lover told him, climbing down carefully and setting the roller to one side. He brushed a speck of dry paint from the denim, and Greg wondered how on Earth he had managed to keep them so clean. He ran a hand up the back of the man’s thigh. ‘Bit of paint,’ he lied.

‘No there isn’t,’ Mycroft turned to frown at him. ‘Honestly. I’m trying to paint. I can’t have sex with you now.’

‘No?’ Greg stepped in to wrap his arms around the tempting man before him, slipping one hand underneath the old tshirt and humming in pleasure. He was fairly certain this was the only time he’d seen Mycroft dressed casually. Normally he saw the man in one of two states- trussed up in a three piece suit, or completely naked.

Mycroft sighed contentedly against his ear, relaxing into the grasp, and Greg decided he might as well have a go. Leaning in to pepper kisses down his jaw, he rubbed one hand over the man’s denim clad bum, before slipping it slowly round to niftily unfasten the button.

Growling in annoyance, Mycroft pulled away. ‘Not _now,_ Gregory,’ he insisted, doing his jeans back up again. He picked up the roller from the floor and clambering back onto his stool.

‘But you look so sexy,’ Greg grinned, giving the man a little distance. ‘I thought maybe you’d let me undress you and then lick every part of you and then fuck you roughly over the back of the sofa,’ he paused for effect. ‘But I can see you’re busy.’

‘Ah… Gregory,’ Mycroft called out to him as he turned away.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s just…’ Mycroft jumped down from the stool, turning slightly pink, ‘did you really mean all that?’

‘All of what?’

‘Lick me… all over?’ Mycroft asked looking intrigued. The roller hung forgotten at his side, dripping paint onto his jeans.

Greg shrugged, looking mournful. ‘If only you’d let me.’

‘I… um…’ Mycroft set down the roller, and moved closer. ‘I suppose the painting could wait…’ 


	31. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The first time Mycroft and Greg meet. Preferably Mycroft’s POV, but it’s up to you.

Mycroft pottered down the grim, grey staircase which led to his brother’s rotting basement flat. Taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he covered his nose in order to ignore the smell. He was half expecting rats to be lurking in the shadows outside the tall front door.

Peering in through the window he spotted a shadowy figure moving about inside. It wasn’t Sherlock. He had company… probably a drug dealer. He’d make sure to see the bastard off.

He tapped commandingly at the door, removing his handkerchief from his nose and wincing as the fetid air assaulted his senses. He folded the kerchief and placed it neatly in his pocket. Looking up, he was just in time to see the door handle turn, and he braced himself, keeping a tight grip on his umbrella in case it were needed to ward off vermin.

_Oh._ The man at the door was not his brother. Nor was it the heroin dealer he had been expecting. He was dressed smartly in tight, _very tight_ navy jeans and a grey v-neck jumper in soft cotton. Mycroft wanted to reach out and stroke it. The man had tanned skin and dark, ruffled hair. A nice body too, Mycroft mused looking him up and down. An active job then, perhaps in the police force? Here to arrest his brother, maybe. That _would_ be handy.

He held a hand out and smiled serenely, ‘Hello. A _pleasure_ to meet you.’

The man looked him up and down uncertainly, before taking his hand in a brisk yet strong grasp. ‘If you’re here to give him heroin, he doesn’t want it.’

‘Lestrade!’ Sherlock’s voice echoed through the flat. ‘I do. Send him in.’

Mycroft forced a smile. Did he look like a drug dealer? He straightened his tie and fixed the intruder with a menacing glare. ‘I am not here to provide my brother with drugs…’

‘Oh,’ if possible the man looked even less enthusiastic than before. ‘You’re the brother are you?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded, bowing his head. ‘Mycroft Holmes,’ he twirled his umbrella for effect.

Greg eyed him up in apparent amusement. ‘ _The posh twat_ , he calls you.’

Mycroft pushed passed him, into the flat. He didn’t have time to be tormented. ‘Fat too, I expect?’ he asked uncaringly.

‘No,’ Greg looked confused. ‘You’re not fat.’

Mycroft could have kissed him. He looked away, trying to resist the urge. ‘Sherlock?’ he called.

‘He’s in bed,’ the man told him. He held out his hand again. ‘Greg Lestrade.’

‘ _Oh!’_ Mycroft exclaimed in surprise as he realised what he’d walked in on. He looked Gregory up and down, surprised that such a man had earned his brother’s attention. Although he was undeniably good looking. Trust his brother to start copulating with the sexiest men in London. ‘So the two of you are…’ he paused, ‘…involved?’

The police officer’s face contorted into an expression of alarm. ‘Eh?’

‘Or… not,’ Mycroft blushed, realising he’d got it wrong. He never got it wrong. The man’s appearance was distracting him. Still, this was promising. He smiled cheerfully. Perhaps he’d have chance to… lay a claim himself, so to speak. He stepped a little closer. ‘May I offer you a cup of tea?’

‘He hasn’t got any teabags.’ Greg told him, raising his eyebrows as Mycroft moved in.

‘Perhaps I could take you elsewhere?’ Mycroft asked him, tilting his head to one side and batting his lashes. It was a move that had never failed him. He licked his lips for effect.

‘Um…’ Gregory took a step backwards. ‘I think I’d better stay here.’

‘Of course,’ Mycroft nodded, meandering into the cramped kitchen and taking a seat at the table. Greg perched on the grotty counter and watched him suspiciously. The room was littered with forensic equipment which his brother should have had no access to. A rotting fox lay on the centre of the table, obviously in the middle of dissection.

‘So what did you want?’ Greg asked him, looking bored. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before blowing smoke in his direction from between soft, wide lips.  

‘How did my brother persuade you to let him raid your workplace, if not with sex?’ Mycroft asked him, feeling a little catty now his offer for a date had been turned down. Perhaps he should simply offer the man sex himself. He couldn’t believe his brother had missed such a prime opportunity.

‘He helps me, I help him.’ The man rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, looking him directly in the eye.

‘Sherlock Holmes,’ Mycroft sighed, admiring the strong legs displayed so deliciously before him, ‘corrupting the police force since 1976.’

‘Fuck off,’ Gregory scowled at him beautifully, running a hand through his hair.

Mycroft was officially smitten. ‘Are you sure we can’t relocate?’ he asked, standing up. ‘Perhaps I could take you back to my flat for a glass of brandy?’

‘Are you trying to seduce me?’ Greg asked him, looking baffled.

‘Will you let me?’ Mycroft twirled his umbrella.

‘Can’t,’ the man told him with a shrug. ‘I’m married.’

‘That needn’t be an issue,’ Mycroft assured him cheerfully. He pulled out a business card from his suit pocket, before turning on his heel and striding out of the room. At the front door he paused to look over his shoulder. Turning the handle, he stepped out into the London mist. He smiled encouragingly and gave Gregory a little wave. ‘ _Call me,_ ’ he told him, before strutting up the stairs, swaying his hips.

At the top he turned around to note with satisfaction that the man had, as intended, been admiring his arse.


End file.
